Of Gods and Miracles
by wandrian
Summary: I don't have a pocket watch, I don't know the show by heart, I'm not a super genius, and no, I don't worship the ground the Doctor walks on. I used to live a life of sheltered mediocrity until one day a Time Lord and his blue box dragged me to adventure kicking and screaming. This is the story of how a normal girl got transported into the Whoniverse and refused to be a Mary Sue.
1. Prologue

**Of Gods and Miracles**

 **Prologue:**

The desert sun is hot on my back. It's so bad that I feel like it's drying out my insides with every breath I take. Dust and a metallic tang hang heavy in the air, a sure sign that the clouds off in the distance will bring more than shade and very soon.

To my left, Amy and Rory Pond stare at me with surprise, and yet not. They've seen me before, if the floppy, fez-bedecked mess barreling down on me, lips puckered and arms spread wide, is any indication.

I remember…pain. It echoes through my joints as I tense. Pain and light and a horrible, awful compression. Somehow, I've been transported into the world of Doctor Who. I don't know how, I don't know why. All I know is that I'm lost, adrift in a universe that with every fibre of my being doesn't feel like it fits, and probably won't for the remainder of my life.

And so, when the Doctor gets within grabbing distance, I deck him.

He stumbles back and plops to the ground. The fez tumbles off and we all watch as it rolls forlornly to a stop in a little puff of dirt. The Doctor drags his eyes back to me and I experience that ancient otherness firsthand as his gaze locks with mine. There's a hefty amount of shock there and a growing sadness that has something, I presume, to do with me. And then, just for an instant, there's a flicker of something that stands my hair on end and has me stepping back: desperation. Deep, dark, worlds-will-burn, galaxies-will-be-torn-asunder attachment that I want no part of, given the nature of this universe and this man.

"Did she just…?" Rory whispers.

"Punch the Doctor? Yes, husband, she did." His wife whispers back, glancing at me unsurely.

As the duo eye me, I turn crisply on my heel and march away. When I'm at about ten paces, I hear the Doctor scramble to get up. His screwdriver goes flying and he scuffles after it with a curse.

"Devi? Devi…wait! Just hold on a minute!"

Of course, he's going to follow me. So what do I do? I bolt.

 _My name is Devi Mann. I don't have a pocket watch, I don't know the show by heart, I'm not a super genius, and no, I don't worship the ground the Doctor walks on. I used to live a life of sheltered mediocrity until one day a Time Lord and his blue box dragged me to adventure kicking and screaming. This is the story of how a normal girl got transported into the Whoniverse and refused to be a Mary Sue._


	2. Goodbye Universe

"Boy, have you got a hell of a right hook." He easily catches up to me and trails a little behind, looking for all intents and purposes like a wilted puppy as he rubs at his jaw. "Okay, you're angry. I get that. But _why_? And why are you running?"

I ignore him.

"Devi. Devi… _wait_." He grabs my wrist and hauls me to a stop. I'm twirled round and pressed to his chest as he leans in and, eyes narrowed, examines my face.

"Let me go." I glare up at him and he freezes. His face goes frighteningly blank as I disentangle myself from his limp hold. I head straight for the TARDIS. She's parked maybe twenty yards away, her blue paint cheerily reflecting the bright desert light. I smile and rest my hand on the doors, just for a moment, before going inside.

Nothing can quite prepare you for stepping into a Time and Relative Dimension In Space. Coming from such extremely arid heat, her coldness is a welcome shock, as well as the dimmed gleam of the console room. There is an air of, not ancientness, but _time_ that hangs in the stillness, as if all the years that she had lived and will live had soaked into the walls and the floors. It's there in the smell, too: a foreign sort of engine grease mixed in with just slightly off-scented recycled air and a cloying, tangy odor of dust-that-isn't-quite-dust. This is a place with history and future somehow both ingrained into the atmosphere. It is comforting and intimidating and just so radically different from anything within the normal realm of experience that it's no wonder all the companions always have their socks knocked off when they first walk through her doors.

I'm in the TARDIS. I'm either up shit creek and lying comatose on a hospital bed back in my world, or really have been impossibly transported to an alternate dimension, but _I'm in the TARDIS_. I can't help but smile as I walk over to the jump seat and sink down. The door creaks open and the Doctor approaches me warily. He really, really doesn't want to ask the question he's about to, but he plows ahead.

"Devi, do you know me? Have we met?"

"No." The tiny, self-deluded light of hope goes out in his eyes and I can't help but feel bad, but it's replaced with something terrifying. His body subtly tenses until he's ramrod straight.

"No…no, no, no." He grinds out and then he's off like a shot deeper into the ship. I sit there for a good amount of minutes, listening to the whirs and clicks and hisses of the console. I'm almost relaxed by the time he slips quietly back in, but snap to attention when I see the state he's in.

In the show the Doctor's darker side is hinted at but never shown. How could it be when it's supposed to be for kids, not to mention that the audience never sees him alone? He's cheery, or at least pleasant because he has to be. Like Vastra said, it's his veil, his mask, his general personality not to dig too deep, show the depths. What's before me now is definitely not something the BBC would approve of.

In the short amount of time he's been gone, he's taken off his jacket and his hair's a mess. He isn't wobbling or bouncing, he's stalking, almost gliding, with an edgy air, like a wolf who has deliberately ripped off his sheepskin. His face is blank. Not carefully blank but _violent_ blank. He wanders over to the console and slumps against it. His eyes are dead. No, not quite. They're tired and sad and…angry. Oh so angry. I sink into the jump seat, away from that flat stare and the menacing aura. He catches my movement and sighs. He gathers himself and I can see the walls come back up, the Doctor get snapped back into place. Or at least I think, until he opens his mouth.

"I can't get you back to your universe. Sorry." He says it like he was talking to a Dalek. I stare into his eyes and see the same terrifying emotion I saw when I punched him. My stomach plummets as I realize that this is a wrecked man. What the hell did I do to deserve this? What the hell had _he_ done?

"Can't, or won't?" He pauses at my challenge, drilling me with his stare.

"Can't." It's all there in his eyes. He knows he's got me. The only one who knows enough about my predicament, about parallel worlds, about me. The only one who's got a 'motor' that can get me back to some semblance of time and place.

I make a run for the doors just as the Ponds come back in. They snap shut behind the couple and the time rotor wheezes to life. I whirl around in panic, but the Doctor is back. He's prancing about the console in all his floppy glory, hair flattened and genial smile in place. Amy and Rory immediately grab onto the railings, but I tumble to the floor as the TARDIS takes off. In seconds she stabilizes and I try to pry myself up.

"That should do it! Parked us in the time vortex, I did." He beams triumphantly and I glare.

Amy reaches over and helps me up.

"You okay?" She sizes me up like a typical mother hen, checking that her chick is bruise-free.

"Amy, she's fine." Rory rolls his eyes.

"Shut up."

"Really, I am. Fine. Trust the nurse." I take a step back and bump into bowtie-boy. I flinch away, but his hands clamp down onto my shoulders.

"Yeah, she's fine." He leans around and looks at me. "Are you fine?"

"Yes! Jeez!" I wrangle myself free. The Ponds stare at me as I distance myself from the Doctor. He looks between us, hands wringing and flapping.

"No." Amy states, clearly sensing something fishy about the situation. "You're acting off. Isn't she acting off?" She rounds on Rory.

"Yeah, a little."

"I'm…" I start, but get cut off. Well, then. Maybe I should let her rant.

"And how'd she just appear out there?" Realizing the redhead is on her way to getting properly worked up, the Doctor finally intervenes.

"Probably should mention, new Devi. New, new Devi." He tries to close the distance between us but I dodge.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Amy watches us with a quizzical frown, like her raggedy man and I are just playing some bizarre game.

"She, ah, doesn't really know us. Just came from her dimension and all that." He finally manages to hold himself back, but his hands subtly dance in my direction. He sees me staring and casually crosses his arms, tucking them out of sight.

"So that's why she punched you." Rory says, god bless his unflappable nature.

"Not exactly…" I get out, but the bastard shoots right over me,

"Yes! I mean, no. Well, she _does_ know of us…"

"And _she_ is right here!" I snap. "Now, Doctor," I march to the console and point at it, "March 30, 2017, American UNIT headquarters, if you please."

They all freeze for a moment.

"Devi, you travel with us. You've already said it. You know what that means."

"I don't care. Take me to UNIT. Or Torchwood. I'm sure Jack would be able to help, instead." The Doctor and I smile politely at each other, and the Ponds start getting nervous.

"You know what? We're really, really tired." Amy approaches me and tentatively gives me a hug. "It's wonderful to meet you, Devi. If he gives you any real trouble, come get me and I'll smack him." She winks at the Doctor's indignant scoff. "I'm sorry about earlier, but you know…or, well, you don't…"

"No, I do." I begrudgingly soften for this brave companion. She's had so many switcheroos and deceptions pulled on her during her time with the Doctor, it's no wonder she's a tad paranoid.

Rory smiles at me and pulls me in for a hug as well, with an awkward little, "Hello." He hesitates and then, "If you need anything, we're here, you know?"

After this, Amy tugs him to the nearest doorway and they're gone.

I want to travel with the Doctor. I want all the magic and the adventure, doesn't anyone who watches Doctor Who? Part of me would even find amusement in being _that girl_ from the fan fiction, I was certainly dumped into the perfect setup. But this man before me is dangerous. It was glossed over in the show, but he is; his lifestyle is. Add into that the…attachment that I'm seeing, and a nice apartment somewhere in backwoods America with a fudged ID and bank account from UNIT sounds more and more appealing.

He still has the harmless-as-a-fly Doctor front on, but he's following my jerky pacing around the console with unerring attention. Suddenly, he moves forward and I skitter away. He looks at me sadly and sticks his hand out.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." He starts wiggling his fingers when my hesitation gets too long for him. I slowly place my hand in his and he shakes it enthusiastically.

"Devi." I can't help but crack a smile.

"There she is." He grins goofily and lets me go. He does a little twirl, mostly, I think, for show. He pauses and pouts. "I missed it, didn't I?"

"What?" He gestures proudly to his magnificent time ship.

"The TARDIS!" He pauses and then leans forward expectantly, "Well?"

"Oh, she's lovely."

"Lovely? That's it?" He seems a bit put out, poor baby.

"Well, to be honest, right now I like her a lot better than I like you." He wilts again and winces.

"Devi, I…" He reaches for me then aborts when I tense, "If there was any way to get you back, you know I would." Liar. "We'll just make the best of it, yeah? You and me and the Ponds in the TARDIS."

"I want to go…"

"You travel with me in the past. Known you since Nine." He shoots off, then looks at me guiltily. What is he…? Oh, no.

"You just…"

"And you've told me, I've seen it for myself that you travel with me in the future. The timelines…"

"Which you just made sure I'll have to follow! I can't believe you! I want to go to UNIT!"

"Devi, I can't." He pleads, but I turn tail and stomp away. I'm praying the TARDIS will take pity on me and show me to my room. Turning my back on him was a mistake, though. As soon as I enter a hallway, he backs me against a wall. I freeze as he wraps himself around me and buries his face in my neck.

It's peculiar, being this close to the Doctor. This regeneration is fairly tall and though skinny, muscular enough that trying to wedge myself out from between him and the wall would be a wasted effort. His brown mop is crushed against my cheek and nose and smells like the TARDIS, but with a hint of…mint, maybe? He's pressed against me so completely that I can feel the famous twin heartbeat, and it's racing away as he sobs apologies. Clearly, we were close before I, what…disappeared? It unnerves me, that I would get so attached to this wonderful, complicated, terrifying man. I think back to those dead eyes and I want no part in it.

So, I sadly wrap my arms around his shaking middle and let him cry himself out. After a minute he calms, but stays glued to me. He noses my neck and my jaw before finally planting our foreheads together with a sniff.

"Can you _please_ let me go?"

He stiffens, but gradually pulls away, sliding his hands over my back and arms, desperately tugging at my body to try and get it to follow his, trying to delay the inevitable. As he steps away, I try not to catch his gaze, already weary of the Time Lord's intensity, but his eyes snags mine and I realize that the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan.

"By the time you meet me in my Ninth generation, you're already absolutely, completely soul-shatteringly in love with me. Now, this doesn't _quite_ make it a fixed point, your jumping around's a bit tricky, but this might help." He lunges forward and smacks our foreheads together. I sag against the wall as I'm bombarded with images of Nine and Ten. I'm happy. We're happy. We're adventuring and laughing and running.

The Doctor gently steadies me until the information settles and then he backs away. He won't look at me, and what I see is very similar to Twelve when he was found by Colony Sarff. Utter shame, but tempered by that awful desperation and relief. He's hell bent on ruining me, this man. And right now, he's too ruined to care.

"Doctor." He gradually faces me. "You are a fucking bastard." I deck him again, but this time, I make sure to lay him flat on his ass.

I step over the groaning idiot and continue onwards.

The TARDIS directs me to a single hallway with a single door. It isn't bedecked with Gallifreyan script or a nameplate, just plain old metal, like any other door I've passed. It whooshes open before I'm even in front of it and I carefully step inside. Before me, laid out like a particularly unsavory crime scene, is the physical evidence of my life here in this universe.

It's not a huge room, but comfortable. Spartan, if I had to name it in a single word. The walls are the same dull metal as the ship's hallways, the floor a strange semi-translucent type of concrete with rugs of varying colors and patterns, most likely picked up on various travels to alien markets, strewn across for warmth. The bed is barely big enough for two people to share comfortably. The comforter is fluffy but covered in a roughly woven cotton with Gallifreyan thickly stitched into the edges. The ceiling above isn't spinning with stars and galaxies. It's as plain as the walls, the only decoration a light positioned over a desk in the corner. It's the single chaotic thing in the room, with papers spilling off its sides and bits of tech strewn across its surface. A half-destroyed sonic screwdriver sits at its middle, with a few tools positioned near it, and a dainty sweater is draped over its chair.

I drag myself over to look at the pictures taped to the wall behind it. They're all of Eleven and me. In every single one, he's planted some part of his body on mine, whether it be an arm or a hand or a chin. More often than not, we're both smiling goofily at the camera. It's not surprising that there are no photos of his other regenerations, but it is telling. I tackle the small wardrobe sitting off to the side, throwing open the doors like I'm ripping off a band-aid. It's obvious that the clothes are mine, and hanging right next to them are a few spare tweed jackets. Some bowties are also haphazardly tossed over the rod.

I slam it closed and head for the bed. The covers smell like…mint. Pajamas that are my size are stuffed next to a pillow. A typical fan would be jumping for joy at this point, I'm sure. I just feel defeated. The proof is depressing: I'm trapped in a stranger's life that's somehow my own. Have been for a while. I'm not going home. God, that statement hurts, but it's the truth. My family will have to go through the awful process of mourning, compounded by the fact that they won't get a body or closure. _I_ won't ever get closure, stuck in a universe that still feels wrong deep down in my bones. Off! Off! Off! My heartbeat tells me, my senses scream, my stomach churns.

Where is the harmless Doctor from the show? Where is the man who runs from ties and domestics? Where is the man-who-could-be-every-fan's-best-friend when I need him? Right outside the door, that's where. I hear his muffled approach and then he starts pacing.

This man…this man….

He kicks the wall and curses. I grab a blanket that had been tossed over a chair in the corner and sink to the floor beside the bed. The concrete is cold, even through the rugs, and I squirm for a comfortable position.

"You can use the bed, at least. It's not like I ever use it." He grumbles. He has to be using the sonic to amplify himself.

"Go work on the TARDIS or something. _Please_." I grumble back, knowing it's a lost cause. Silence. "You're _not_ coming in here."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He sinks down against the door.

"Liar."

"Yeah." He sighs wistfully. I relax against the comforter and focus on the gentle hum of the ship through the floor. God, I wish the TARDIS could just rearrange herself and toss him in the pool. Or lock him in the attic. That would probably be more effective.

"I'm old, Devi. So, so old. I'm old and I'm selfish and I'm owed." He growls. "After all the time and the pain, I'm looking at the end and I can't…let you go. And I know I should. I can see it, I can _feel_ it. This universe, it takes and it takes and I'm sorry, so very sorry, but you are the impossible and I just _want_ …" He chuckles and changes tack, "Huh. Funny old Doctor, me. Just ignore it, Devi. Ignore me and go to sleep, yeah?"

The lonely god has decided not to follow the rules anymore, at least when it comes to plain, boring old me. Though I can't imagine why he'd want to. Unless…

"You know I'm going to die in a few decades, right?" His hesitation starts my heart hammering. "I haven't magically turned into a Time Lady. One heart. Still human, still mortal."

"Of course, you're still human! Though it depends on your perspective…"

"Doctor!" I snap.

"Your journey between worlds, we calculated that it took _years_ , Devi, _decades_." So, even if it were possible, I had nothing to go back to. The confirmation stings, even though I'd been expecting it. "You've been exposed to so many types of energies. The right types, and somehow miraculously in the right order. Don't really buy into miracles myself, but this time I'll take it."

"Doctor, what am I?"

"Oh, you're still you, but with a little…extra. Well, a lot. You're going to be able to withstand some pretty tough stuff for a human, Devi. Going to be around a long time. Oh, how we'll run, you and I."

I was right. I'm impossibly stuck in a bizarre, wish-fulfillment parody of Doctor Who. I snicker into the tense silence, because who am I kidding, the floppy idiot out in the hall is glued to my every movement, despite the inches-thick metal plating between us. I've cracked, I decide. And hell will reach sub-zero temperatures before I play into this terrifying scenario. What's in store is dreadful and exciting. I want to cry. I want to flee. Instead, I shiver and hunch further back into the bed, away from my fate. As I slip into sleep, the last thought I have is,

 _This urge to run, as far and as fast as I can…huh, aren't we a pair?_

 **Dear readers, thanks for sticking with me for an entire chapter (and a half). I'm still a little unsure of the premise - is it worth continuing or should I concentrate on a more unique plot? Let me know what you think!**

 **-Ria**

 **Disclaimer: BBC owns Doctor Who, not me, though I do claim credit for any unique characters and plots I come up with.**


	3. Hello Drama

He's gone from in front of the door when I wake up. The console room is empty, too. I warily check under the floor before going to the doors. We're in space, floating in front of a colorful nebula. The air is slightly gusty outside, and warm, thanks to the oxygen bubble, and like everything else on this damned ship, smells peculiar. This time, it's oranges and hot electronics.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I yelp and tumble away from the TARDIS. As I fumble and miss for a grip on her wood, the Doctor watches me silently. Slowly, his lips curl into a smile and he extends his hand. "Sorry."

"Oh, you know you aren't." I gripe and start trying to paddle back. I don't know what kind of gravity the bubble's been programmed to mimic, but it's certainly not drawing me back to the TARDIS. As I float further away, he panics and nabs me. I smack into him and we 'accidentally' tumble to the floor. Accident, my ass. His nose is immediately buried in my neck and his hands slither around my waist. "If you don't let me let me go, right now, I'll head butt you."

"I bet you would." He mutters, but the hands release and I roll away. He's up after me in a flash, but seems to think better of approaching. He passes me and goes to fiddle with some instruments on the console. I plant myself against the railing and listen to the ship hum and tick over. Just like on the show, he's tutting to the console like she can really converse. If the multitude of shocks are anything to go by, she's in a foul mood.

"What'd you do to her this time?" I tease. Instead of the usual caustic quip he'd do on the show, he shoots me another veiled, guilty look. Oh. "Thanks, Sexy. At least someone's on my side."

"Not quite." He winces and gets even more guilty, if possible. Well, it appears there's no love lost between me and the time ship. Always knew she'd defend her stolen goods, though. "Where're the Ponds?"

"Sleeping."

"In their bunk bed?" He seems to sense the danger in my question and pauses.

"Yes."

"Oh, so they get a bunk bed and we don't?" He flashes a victory smile at my apparent acceptance of couple status, but I smack him down hard. "I'm not gonna sleep in that room again."

"Devi…"

"Did it make you happy to traumatize me like that? To hammer it in that I won't be going home, you bastard?"

"Oi, language! I made an exception yesterday, but honestly, the swearing is a no-no. And that's just where you sleep. You'll get used to it. I promise." I want to hit him again. So bad. He takes in the violent gleam in my eye and wobbles back out of my reach.

"Coming from you, that's a threat." He stares me down, his posture edgy, the ancient fire back in his eyes. "Doctor, you don't travel with people like me," I reason. "The ones that have an infinite perspective. You need mayflies, you said."

"Did I?" He ponders slowly. Oh, geez.

"Forget it. But the point is, you start losing touch without proper, mortal companions. It would be best for all of us if you just drop me off somewhere and we go about our lives." As he smiles and starts towards me, not gangling or flopping, I know I'm in trouble.

"We've had plenty of companions, Devi." Drat it, he's using couple-speak again. "And all of them have had so, so much of an impact. Gave me perspective. Kept me in line. As for immortals tagging along, have done. Will do, I'm sure."

"Stop. Stop it." By the time I figure out he's backed me against the console, his arms have descended, trapping me.

"And you're not jaded yet. Not worn down by all the years like your silly old Doctor. You won't be, actually. Well, a bit, but you always manage to be a little human, a little magical."

"Stick a fork in me, Doctor."

" _What_?" He jerks back, mouth in a little 'o'.

"Stick a fork in me, because I am done with your cra…"

"Oi!" I struggle to slip under his arm, but he nudges me back in place with a laugh. His eyes are twinkling, "Well, that's new. See, you always have perspective, see the angles, do something brilliant and different. That's what I love…"

"Ah!" Hell if I let him go there. Ever, if I can help it. I should be flattered that this hero-god sees so much in me. As it is, I just feel terrified and cornered, my heart hammering away in panic. We face off in the silence, my back wedged against what I think is the zig-zag-plotter and his hands inching ever closer to my sides. "Doctor, what you're doing, this isn't good for anyone involved."

"No, not good, _never_ good." His expression is stormy. I can see all the things he's asking me to give up, all the hardships and the sorrows I'll face tied to him. But is it worth it for all the joy and wonder and adventure? I have to be honest, maybe for some it would be the greatest gift in the world, but for me, no. So I make the decision, right then, that if I ever get the chance, I'll make a break for it. Might not really get far, but at least I'll try. "Devi, Devi, Devi…" He muses over my name dangerously long, his eyes lighting with a smoldering desperation.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Now who's the liar?" As he leans towards my ear and I bend almost in half to get away from his last resort, Amy flounces in. He hops away from me and stumbles to the floor comically. He's an idiot, but a smart one, and he sure knows how to work his companions.

"You okay, there?" Amy asks, looking at both of us with some skepticism and concern.

"Yeah. It's cool. I'm cool. Just caught me leg in the old helmic regulator, ah, wire." Did he mean the helmic regulator that was sunk directly into a panel, with no wires sticking out? Pft.

"You know how chinny's prone to flopping about, Amy. He could trip on air."

"Hey, hey! Be nice!" He pouts, striding over to the redhead and giving her a bone-crushing hug. I'm in for some bad times if he's experiencing withdrawal from just a few hours of Devi touch deprivation.

"I was." I deadpan as he releases Amy.

"What was that for, Doctor?" He, of course, ignores her.

"And my chin isn't that big."

"Planet-sized." I just have to keep riling him. He scoffs and proceeds to try to ignore me.

"Now, where's the other Pond? Oh, wait, he's still sleeping, isn't he? Humans." I pale as I notice what Amy's wearing. Brown coat, striped shirt, leather shoes with no socks. Somehow, my brain stalls on the fact that she has no socks. Why doesn't she have socks?

"Devi?" The Doctor's face has carefully blanked at my expression.

"Yes?" Oh this is not good. Very, very not good.

"We were thinking of taking the day off. Go somewhere…slow. Relax. Read, maybe." At his prompting, Amy pulls a book from her pocket.

"I got the new Melody Malone. Mystery, intrigue, and…"

"Yowzah!" The Doctor twirls excitedly for his companion's sake, but I can tell he's worried.

"You and the yowzing." She directs at him as he dashes back to the console and sets in the coordinates. "Devi, I know this is all new and probably a little overwhelming, so we'll take it slow, okay?" She hands me the book, but I can't bear to touch it, so I slip it carefully back in her pocket. She's looking at me with a gentle expression, and I can't help but feel guilty that I didn't want to know this woman and now I never will.

"Thanks, but I'm just going to stay in the TARDIS today."

"What? But Devi…" Three things happen in rapid succession: Rory comes out of a corridor, the Doctor flips a switch, and we all fumble for balance as the TARDIS materializes in Central Park. I don't know if it's just me, but the ship's wheezing seems little rougher, more reluctant. I catch the Doctor glancing up at the time rotor, his expression again carefully blank. I decide to nip this thing in the bud.

"Look, I appreciate this, I really do, but I'm still pretty tired. I don't know if it was the dimension jump or what, but, yeah, I'm going back to bed." Amy and now Rory look like they're going to protest. "Please. You guys go and have a nice, relaxing time out there. You certainly deserve it after all the crises he's dragged you through. And it would make me rest better if I knew you were enjoying it." Liar. Liar. Liar. I am such a liar.

The Doctor's caught wind of my plan, because he's heading for us with a frown. Some sentimental reflex has me hugging both Ponds before I dash into the ship, away from an adventure I really don't want to be a part of.

As I'd hoped, the Doctor doesn't come to confront me. Maybe it was mean of me to bank on his cowardly tendencies and general avoidance-of-terrible-possibilities, but all's fair in love and war, I suppose. I've been huddled on the floor under my blanket for over an hour when the door opens. He stands there, just watching me. I don't want to look, but when the atmosphere takes a dive to the dark side, I can't help myself. He has those dead, dead eyes again. I shuffle further back into the side of the bed, wishing I could crawl underneath it.

"Rory's gone off on a bit of a wander. Gonna go get him." Yikes, is he angry. But I can't give him what he wants. Any of it. "You sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I'm fine here, thanks." BBC Doctor is gone at my statement. He looks like he's torn between dragging me outside and tying me to the bed. He does neither. Instead, he just about-faces and walks away. The lack of affection is damning.

I wait until the wild ride to 30's New York is over and then I bolt. I scurry down the corridors, begging the TARDIS to give me my own room, or at least show me to a sanctuary. You'd think it would be a benefit to the both of us if she kept me away from him, but I underestimate her dedication. I'm shown back to the console room over and over until I give up and try to wedge myself in the darkest corner in the lowest part of the room.

The storm comes sweeping in less than an hour later. Initially, he's happily chatting to River, but then he dashes back outside. Right when he came in, that would have been the time to change things, and part of me wishes I could. He loves the Ponds. But the point is too big. Who knows what sort of horrible death they might face if they didn't go now? And I have no right to take their end from them. It's their time to go. They knew it, he knows it, but just can't accept it.

He crashes back through the doors, River hurriedly trailing him, and skids to a stop in the middle of the room. Through the glass, I can see his shoes swivel until they're pointed directly at me, then he launches himself down the stairs.

"Doctor, what are you doing? Doctor?!" The baby Pond sounds beyond panicked. Uh, oh. He immediately zeros in on my hiding place and drags me out and up.

"Nobody ever listens, do they? Nobody ever listens! You'd think the universe would give me a break, one of these days, a free pass, a buffer against stupidity." He thrusts me into the jump seat. I flounder for balance as he towers over me. "Oh, wait, it's right here. And it's useless!"

"Don't you dare." River steps between us

"Don't I dare? Don't I dare?! River Song, of course I'd dare!" Sparks fly between their locked gazes. And then, ever so quietly, into the silence of his anger, she says,

"It's not her fault." His eyes widen. "Do you hear me? It's not her fault." He really looks at me then, and it's a pretty pathetic sight. I'm shivering, hunched in on myself to make me as small a target as possible. And then, those old, old eyes flood with guilt and grief and a healthy dose of self-loathing.

"Oh, Devi…" One hand drifts towards me and I tense.

"Stay away from me." My teeth are chattering from the adrenaline, the near miss I had with the Oncoming Storm's apocalyptic temper.

"Of course. I…Of course." He retreats to the stairs and sinks down bonelessly, staring off into space. River strides to the console and starts sending the TARDIS off. He dazedly takes in her crip movements, the tears just held back in the corners of her eyes.

"River, they were your parents. I'm sorry. I didn't even think."

"Doesn't matter." She shoots back.

"Of course it matters." But she's having none of his guilt fest. She leans in, so he's glued to her.

"What matters is this: you don't shut out the one thing you have left, Doctor. We all have our time…"

"River…"

"No! We all have our time to be with you, be brilliant. But _she_ is the only thing that graces your eternity. Gives you grace." She turns back to the console, but warns flippantly over her shoulder, "And don't you two travel alone."

Oh River, you know this is it, don't you? Her brittle smile, her tight laugh, the way she just can't seem to keep her eyes on the Time Lord. Her tragic, wonderful story is ending as well.

"Travel with us, then." He's being so selfish. So cruel.

"Shut up, you idiot." I snap. River shoots me a grateful smile and soldiers on.

"Okay, this book I've got to write, Melody Malone, I presume I send it to Amy to get it published?"

"Yes, yes." His voice is rough, close to tears. Selfish old man he may be, but he can sense the end, too, and it's killing him. So many losses in just one day.

"I'll tell her to write an afterward. For you. Maybe you'll listen to her." He's out of the TARDIS practically before she finishes. River sags against the console and lets out a gusty sigh. "You're the bravest soul in the universe for managing him, Devi."

"You did pretty good yourself. Though I don't think anyone could ever really control that idiot." I unfurl myself from the seat and shakily get up. When I look back to her, I know I've said something terribly wrong. She's utterly devastated, but trying to conceal it with a passively pleasant smile.

"I usually don't have to." And then it hits. I really know this woman. Or will know her. Poor, poor River.

"River, I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't you apologize to me." She lunges over to me, suddenly desperate, "Don't you ever do that." She glances back at the doors for a moment, and then pulls me close, her eyes pleading. The proud and snappy River Song, begging. Oh, this is not a pleasant experience. "Devi, I know you're probably scared right now, and hurting, and lost. But that man out there is my very best friend, and he needs you. You have to help him, Devi. You have to stay with him. You are his hearts, and without them the universe is lost. I am lost. Do you understand me?"

"I can't…"

"Oh, but it'll be fun." She pulls away and flirty, carefree River is winking at me. "All the galaxies you'll find adventure in, all the naughty, naughty trouble you'll find. And we're partners in crime, you and I. But, oh…spoilers!"

"River," I don't want to get involved, I really, really don't. But for this fiery, doomed companion, and in honor of the Ponds that I never got to know, I can't help myself. "I might not know everything we'll do yet, but I know you. You're strong and you're stubborn and you are a treasure to the Doctor and, I'm sure, to me. Don't forget that, okay? Even if you're alone, in the dark, don't forget."

We smile at each other, this could-have-been-wife-of-the-Doctor and I.

"Sweetie, I'm not a treasure, I'm a king's ransom." she quips with a pasted on smirk, then she turns to leave. Before she slips between the doors, she pauses.

"So, you understand? You'll help him?"

"Yes." Rule number one: the Doctor lies. He does it to protect his companions, to protect himself, to avoid and to control and to escape. And, god, doesn't it feel horrible?

"Thank you." She whispers. And then she's gone.

Almost immediately after, the Doctor comes careening back in and crashes into the console. He must have just missed her outside.

"River's left then, has she?" I realize he's actually waiting for an answer, hand poised above a lever.

"Yeah, just a minute ago."

"Bugger. But she'll pop up eventually." His eyes flicker briefly as he processes the self-delusion and then move on to a sad sort of cheer. "Never mind that, I've got to go see a Pond about a Pond!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" The companions and assistants stretch over the Doctor's timeline like bright flares, they captivate and distract, but they also burn. He's hurting right now, but he also knows it's what he signs up for with each new person he takes in. They, on the other hand, often have no idea what they're setting themselves up for. I absolutely hate it when his denial rears its ugly head, because then people get devastated.

"Of course it's a good idea. One of the best! I did leave little Amelia in a garden, once upon a time. Let's give her something to wait with, eh?" I just shake my head as he ignores me and moves us. He rushes outside with a spring in his step, but what comes back in is wilted, crumpled around the edges. He sets the TARDIS into flight without his usual gusto and when we land, it is decidedly without drama. I stare him down as he fiddles with some switches and buttons, until finally he turns to me.

"What?" The question is flat.

"Not one letter. Not one meeting."

"No." He has that ugly expression back on his face. Well tough.

"You could at least tell Brian."

"Devi, don't do this." He turns his back on me. Coward.

"Get over yourself. You can't just dump these people, Doctor. They're hurt…"

"No." He hisses, swiveling and striding right up to me, pressing our faces together, "You don't get to do this now. Give it a few centuries, Devi, the responsibility and the pain grinding themselves in, _then_ you can yell at me all you want. Not like you will," He snorts, "Not like you can."

Once again, I feel my future with the Doctor creeping up on me, strangling me into compliance. I shoot away and make a break for the doors.

"So that's it, then? You're going to run? Fine. Off you go." He's still frozen in position as I stumble out into the clouds. He's parked us over Victorian London, just like on the show. I spot the stairs and bolt down them, ignoring the dizzying height, the clouds misting my clothes and hair as I sail through them, the breathtaking sight of millions of gas lights and rooftops sprawling over the horizon. I'm halfway to the ground when a strangled shout comes from up above.

"Devi! Devi?!" The ladder shakes and then he's streaking towards me at twice my pace. No, no, no! My legs start to fly as fast as I can push them. "Come back. Please, Devi. I…I didn't mean it."

I somehow make it to the ladder before him and practically slide down it. He's closing the distance between us fast and I can't…I just can't…

"What'd I tell you about ignoring me, huh? Funny old Doctor. Not right in the head. Really, I spout gibberish. Please, Devi? Just hold on….just _wait_!"

Ha! I make it out of the park and onto a side street. As soon as I'm out of his direct line of sight, the sonic starts whirring, trying to track me. I turn down an alley, glancing back to check he hasn't spotted me. But my distraction costs me. I'm yanked into darkness, the door to the street snicking quietly shut behind me. I flounder back, pressing myself against what feels like a wall.

"What the…" I manage to squeak, but a rough whisper slips out of the gloom,

"Quiet." Oh. Oh, no. That Scottish brogue…footsteps hurriedly clack past the door, accompanied by the sonic. My brain stutters to a halt as I sink further back against rough plaster and try to calm my gasping breaths, my pounding heart. After what seems like hours of seconds, he moves on and away. The silence thickens as I strain my ears to make sure he's gone. Suddenly, something shifts in the dark. There's the rattle of a sonic being pulled out and blue light spills into the room. Gray curls, a manic smile, and piercing, steely eyes filled with an uncomfortable mix of emotions, staring at me with such a soft expression so different from the heat of Eleven's. Well, the Doctor's found me.

"Hello." Twelve says cheerily.

Crap.

 **I'm so sorry for the cliffie, dear readers. Yeah, no I'm not. I'm actually cackling madly thinking about your agony. But worry not, this next chapter's gonna be effing awesome, like, seriously, thar be dragons and adventuring ahead! Though bad news for Twelve fans - the next bit is only a cameo. He won't be appearing again until near the end. Or at least, I think. For Eleven fans, so sorry for the minor inconvenience of a standoffish, magician-wannabe. He'll be gone soon, but until then, here's a video of Matt Smith awkwardly eating scones: (youtube) /watch?v=LcmxgJctvBc**

 **A big thank you to all of my readers, reviewers, favoriters and followers. Your wonderful input and attention really inspired me to keep going with this fic, especially when I was so unsure about the premise and my characterization of the good old Doc. Comment, criticize, or just shower me with encouragement. Either way, I love it and I love ya all!**

 **-Ria**


	4. And Adventuring We Go

"What the hell are you doing here?!" He smirks in the face of my indignation.

"Skiving off. Do you wanna come?"

"What part of running from your prior self suggests that I would want to spend any time with you?" I screech. I am done. Done. Done. Done. I just got free of one of them, damn it!

"Shhh." He cocks his head towards the door. "Bowtie-boy's very determined right now. And listening very, very hard for you." My heart immediately starts jackhammering and I dig my nails into the wall behind me, desperately wishing I could claw my way into it. "Stop that. You'll be fine if you stay quiet." He scolds, striding over to unlatch my hands from the plaster. His touch is clinical and brief, blessed and confusing relief from Eleven's smothering. "So, there's a thing. A very fun thing. A thing you'll like. I promise."

"I'd rather take my chances surviving Victorian London."

"I'm sorry, is that a no? Because that was a bit more 'maybe' to me." His eyebrows waggle hopefully and his grin widens to painful proportions, but I'm not falling for his shtick. No way, no how.

"You ain't fooling me, buddy. You know that's a solid no. I'm not going to help you with your thing, but thanks for the rescue. I gotta go." Even as I say it, I know it's a lost cause. Eleven is Twelve, after all. True to form, he dogs me as I start to search the dark for another exit.

"To your right about four steps." My hand hits a doorknob and I yank on it, revealing a dim corridor. Wait, did he just show me the exit? "Down and out. Just don't head back the way you came. Well, do, if you want, but I don't particularly like running into the things I'm running from. Never ends well. Usually, there's an explosion or tomatoes." He stands in the shadows as I edge towards freedom, eyes still gentle but…haunted.

"So I manage to leave you, do I?" Oh, I've hit a nerve. The attack eyebrows lower into position and a glower locks firmly into place, silhouetted by the blue glow of the screwdriver. Speaking of, isn't that…? "Where's Clara?"

"It's a very, very, very nice thing. Spectacular. Are you sure that you don't want to come with? Come on, live a little. I promise I won't stop you if you want to go. Cross my hearts. I'll even personally escort you to America. Though why you'd want to settle when you have this clever fellow at your disposal…well, I won't stop you, but I strongly suggest against it."

It's there, just for an instant, such profound grief that the blue of his irises turn almost to black. He's desperately trying to hold on after losing Clara, and floundering, by the looks of it. Well, come on feet! I head for the end of the hallway, where I can see a stairwell silhouetted. But I can feel that lonely gaze drilling into me. I stop and look back. He's still standing just inside the threshold, like a dog that's impatiently but obediently waiting for its master's command. He's not acting very Doctor-ish. I don't like it.

"You aren't going to follow me?" I glare at him suspiciously.

"Now why would I do that? You're free to go about your fleeing." He finally moves, casually sagging against the doorframe. His graceful unfurling of limbs irks me, a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that the predator has gotten even more stealthy. Well, until he flaps his hands at me, almost dislodging himself from his perch in the process. Yeah, he did it on purpose, but it's still funny. "Well, go on."

"I will. I am." And I'm on my way, ignoring the older, grayer idiot behind me. I'm not thinking what I think I'm thinking. No. Nuh uh. It's a total trap. Doctor-shaped and tied with strings I really don't wanna touch. My traitor feet hesitate for an instant before I drive them onwards and outside. I'm confident, I'm in control, I'm free, then it all goes to pot.

A loud roar rattles the casings of the gas lamps above me in the alley and dark scales, glinting in the low light, rush past the rooftops in a frigid blast of air, battering my hair and clothes and sending trash swirling in the street. Not a second later, the door behind me creaks open and a curly head pops out.

"I'm sorry, but was that a dragon?" Wonder and excitement push back the loneliness as he twinkles his eyes at me and flashes a charming smirk. "Now that's what I'm talking about! Oh-ho-ho! And just when you think your day couldn't get any duller. A dragon in London. So very, very far from its home." He promptly licks a finger and sticks it in the air.

"Dragons are real?!" Oh, dear. I just saw a dragon. But…but…

"Of course they're real, Devi! Well, possibly. At least on Earth. But who am I to know of all the beasties in all the billions of galaxies out there? Ha!" And he's off, jetting down the street towards trouble. I'm going to do the sensible thing and turn and go the opposite way. Away from danger and adventure and the Doctor. I can survive in this place and era. Can't go to Paternoster Row, but I can do this! Or maybe find Jack…oh, who am I kidding? Certainly not myself, though I can only dream and hope for the day. I sprint after him, managing to catch up at the head of the alley.

"You're going to drop me off in modern America as soon as this is done, Doctor." I pant. My legs are definitely going to be jelly by the end of this night. Twelve lights up at my concession.

"Yes, ma'am!" He laughs with American-sounding sass and grabs my hand. I'm hauled across the neighborhood as he trails after the creature. It snakes its way to a main thoroughfare, patrons bustling in and out of shops and buggies and carriages clacking down the street. Horses shy and rear as it swoops low, catching the attention of the crowd. But instead of mass panic, like the horses seem hell bent on, they clap and laugh at the dragon or, in my opinion, the massive winged death. How the hell does anyone survive in this universe?!

"A scary monster, a _big_ scary monster. The stuff of legends, the stuff of nightmares, and they're cheering it on. At least the selfie hasn't been invented yet. Small miracles." I can hear it rattling around that big head of his: the happy atmosphere, the lack of surprise.

"They've all been warned." I muse. "Well, not really _warned_. It's a publicity stunt. They probably advertised it in the papers. Or do you think it's some kind of, what, mind control? Emotional…tampering?"

"What are you on about? Of course it's the papers." He scoffs, then whips one out from a bigger-on-the-inside pocket with a flourish. A sketch of the dragon's made the front page, along with the headline, 'Wonders in Orange's Mystical Carnival'. He seems proud of his little offering. I ignore that in favor of how new the newsprint looks. I left him alone for less than half a minute!

"Where'd you get it?" The smirk tuns into a scowl and the paper gets stuffed back into the pocket.

"There's a dragon on the front page of one of London's biggest newspapers and you're focused on that? Oh, come on. Adventure. Mystery. It's all so very exciting." He flutters his hands in a manner meant to be elegantly enticing but comes off as sideshow magician.

"Doctor." I slowly raise my eyebrow. He seems to recognize the gesture and, interestingly, he starts getting jittery. Huh.

"Well, it's not like he needed it. It took him ten seconds to read a sentence. Really, I was just doing his tiny little brain a favor. It'd probably overheat before he got to the classifieds. Probably wouldn't make it past the first…" he trails off as I plug my fingers in my ears. "Devi? Devi, what are you doing? Stop that." My hands are irritably swiped away from my head.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you trying to make a point? I couldn't hear it over your massive ego. It was rather loud." Our brows, mine proudly raised and his fiercely furrowed, lock in an epic battle. If only there were tumble weeds and a mariachi band, this moment would be perfect. Time freezes, the wind howls, and the dragon takes off. As it flies directly overhead, thrust buffeting my hair, I turn to try and catch a glimpse but instead get a face-full of navy wool. Arms longer and more sturdy than Eleven's wrap around my waist. Dang it. Not again! "Doctor, you have till the count of three to remove your arms from my person, or so help me…!"

His laugh rumbles through his chest as I'm lifted up and twirled around.

"Oh, I've missed you!" He carefully sets me back on my feet and steps away. There're no smothering gestures, no possessive twitches in my direction. Just a mad twinkle in his steely eyes and a gigantic smirk. That crafty bastard.

"That's strike one, you hear me? This is going down on the record as strike one. Two more and I'm gonna get violent." There. I gave him fair warning. My inner rage-monster smiles with gleeful anticipation, because knowing this idiot, I'm going to get a proper vent very soon. It seems he knows this, too, because there's a flicker of, not dread, but certainly anxiety born from experience in his eyes, in the thinning of his lips. But then the darn twinkle is back and giving Dumbledore a run for his money. Gah! But, hold on. Why's he looking behind me?

"No, no, no, boy! This won't do!" Holy crap! Strax is inches away, in period butler gear, with a gun that's definitely _not_ period slung over his shoulder. "The honorable intention is admirable, yes, but tactical advantage is imperative. How else are you going to decimate your enemy's ranks?"

"The Doctor, an enemy? Now that's bleeding crazy, that is." Jenny scoffs as she slides out of the shadows, Madame Vastra trailing after her.

"Is it?" The Silurian's tone is dangerously velvety. "Devi. Hello, dear. We've just had a visit from his counterpart. Panicked. Angry. Desperate. He ransacked the house and left without a word. Tell me, Doctor, just what had gotten you into such a state?" Her veil remains solely pointed in my direction, her focus, her suspicion on me. No, that bowtied idiot didn't…

"Yeah, it was me," I confirm. "I kinda…left him and he went a bit…chasey on me? Sorry about that."

"Hush, now," she cuts into my worry, "the Doctor is a great man, but a man he still is. He certainly deserves to be kept on his toes." Twelve, who's been sulkily glowering at the trio, finally decides he's had enough interference.

"Yes, hello. Doctor right here. Doctor busy. Doctor leaving." He swoops in and starts dragging me off. " _Bye_." Oh, he's insufferable! I balk, my shoes squeaking against the cobblestones as he tries to resist my resistance.

"That's strike two." My words have the desired effect and he stops tugging, completely flabbergasted.

"Oh, come on! That was them, not you." His grip slackens. I rip my arm free and scurry over to the relative safety of Vastra. The Doctor shoots her what I can only interpret as a warning look and then flicks his gaze to me. She, in turn, is suddenly overcome by a soft sadness, something that doesn't sit well on her sharp features. And then, ever so subtly, she looks at me, too. What the heck is going on?!

"Is this," I wave at the strange stares, "because I left him? Because I'm pretty sure _that_ cat's out of the bag. This is a one off and then it's off to America for me."

"Of course, dear." That knowing tone, the placating smile. Oh, boy. There's something big going on, here. And it's all to do with me and I don't like it. I take a nervous step back and it breaks the spell. The Doctor flies into action,

"So, dragon? Aren't you all astounded?" Crickets is all he gets.

"I'm married to a reptile." Jenny deadpans. Strax, on the other hand…

"It's invigorating! A beast of that size is sure to pose a small challenge to a warrior of my calibre. I'm thinking of mounting the head in the scullery. It'll be a fine distraction as I mop."

"Well, that's a lot less than astounded. Doesn't anybody get surprised, these days? Good for the heart. Good for the reflexes." He takes in his less-than-impressed audience. "No? Alright. By all means, be boring."

"So, it's off to the carnival, then." Vastra's already halfway into a shadowy alley, where I'm assuming her carriage is hid. Everyone turns to follow. It is, logically, the most obvious next move, after all. But Grumpy Face stubbornly plants himself where he stands and pouts like a little kid who's had his candy snatched away.

"Is everyone ignoring the obvious, here? I mean, really." More crickets. " _Him_. He's out there tearing apart half of London. So, Devi and I are going to the carnival. You're going to find him, somewhere near Chiswick Street, if I'm right, which I am, and then you're going to babysit."

"Pardon?" Vastra has a really wicked I'm-going-to-eviscerate-you-slowly-and-painfully look. Oh BBC, you gloss over the most kick-ass details, don't you?

"Distract. Incapacitate. Do what you do best. And we're going to find trouble. Right, Devi?" His eyes are smoldering irritably as he widens them at me. He so totally wants me to himself. So what do I do?

"Madame Vastra, Jenny, Strax, I'm sorry to impose, but I haven't eaten anything for _decades_ , according to him, tea and some biscuits would be lovely. If you don't mind."

"Tea and biscuits? Staple though they may be, they're hardly constitutional. Jenny had just pulled a roast out of the oven when the Doctor called on us. A nice hunk of meat is much more stimulating to the palate when one is hungry. Come along." She pins the Twelve with a regal glare and then leads the way to the carriage. Hot damn, this woman's sharp as a tack!

And so, we're all sat at the dinner table in Paternoster Row cheerily eating a gigantic beef roast and an array of side dishes prepared expertly by the Silurian's wife. Well, except for the idiot next to me. He's mashing his potatoes angrily with his spoon and covertly trying to fling peas at Strax.

"He's going to be here any minute," he growls in my general direction.

"No, he's not. You said it yourself, and I quote, 'We should be fine for dinner.'" He's not getting between me and my beef. It's excellently seasoned. And god, the potatoes…

"That statement was given under duress. I've changed my mind. He's coming like a bloodhound locked onto a scent."

"Which would clearly explain why you're not trying to drag me out of here. Or at least gone yourself." I flick a pea at him. It sticks in his curls, right above his ear. Recognizing he ain't getting anywhere with me, the Time Lord huffily brushes it off and then tunes the dinner party back out, only moving to, funnily enough, pile more onto my plate when I run low, like a fussy nanny. I humor this, and his attacks on Strax, for the relative quiet it brings, his distraction and simmering irritation the only things holding back his gob thus far.

The dam breaks when Jenny brings out dessert. It's a layer cake, beautifully decorated with raspberries and cream. It's the custard filling that does it.

"Oh, that horrible. Where's the jam?" Jenny's proud smile wilts and Vastra stiffens. And that's strike three. As he argues and degrades and tries to make everyone in the room feel like three year olds in the face of his big brain, I calmly eat the yummy cake and drink the accompanying tea, a delicate blend of earl grey and darjeeling. It's a shame, really, I think as I fill my cup with boiling liquid again, to waste such good tea.

Twelve stutters to a halt as I dump my cup on his lap. Though I doubt it really did any damage, given his Time Lord physiology, it certainly has an impact since, as it soaks in, a whine claws its way past tightened lips. When his mind finally processes, he shoots out of his chair. Everyone's eyes zero in on his dark trousers, which now have an even darker stain in a very interesting position. It looks like…pft…it looks like…he piddled himself! Oh, the mere thought! I immediately almost keel out of my chair cackling. It's a domino effect and the rest of the room falls to mirth as well. Even Vastra cracks a smile.

"You look ridiculous!" States Potato Obvious. "It's like you have no control over your bowels. Like an infant." That's it. I'm officially rolling on the floor.

Said infant's head creaks towards me in excorcist-esque anger, " _Devi_ ," he whispers. I can hear thunder in the tone, an echo of the Oncoming Storm. Sorry, sucker, but you were warned. Not my fault you're an insensitive bastard, but I will certainly take advantage.

"Strike three!" I choke out as I stare up at him from the rug, cheeks wet, smile impossibly large. And just like that, the anger melts into that soft expression from before. Tea stain forgotten, he leans down, eyes so, so sad, and filed with an awe that should be reserved for the creation of stars, or everyone living, just once, or an impossible thing becoming possible, and I realize that the grief I see in his face is not all just for Clara, and that I might not be getting to America.

I stuff that thought into the denial vault as long fingers reach toward my cheek and ghost down my tears, trembling to a stop on my chin. A primal instinct of survival, my cornered independence, has me reaching up and violently slapping the contact away. The Storm comes roaring back and he straightens, lips curled in…is that _disgust_? Again, I'm hit with the feeling that there's something gone very, very wrong, here, and it has all to do with me. I start curling in on myself. He tries to ignore it, furrowing his brows to stoke the anger, but it fizzles, splutters for purchase and comes up short. His eyes flick down to the stain in annoyance, then he stomps out of the room. The front door slams shortly after.

There's an air of having dodged a nuclear explosion hanging heavy in the room. No one seems to want to speak in the face of the uncomfortably intimate and intimately terrifying thing they just witnessed.

"Jenny, your cake's excellent. Don't mind the idiot," I damage control as I pull myself back into my chair.

"Thank you, ma'am." The poor maid's doing her best to crack a smile. I try to encourage it,

"Seriously, though, this is awesome. Jam would have made it way too sweet." I point next to me to the pile of sugar with tea on it sitting puddled in its saucer. "He's well on his way to regeneration number thirteen, and the only explanation I can come up with is the taste buds in this one must be broke. Ick." This sets off another round of laughter. It's nervous and brief, but improves the atmosphere immensely.

"I think that might be a general condition, dear," Vastra gently quips. "You know his younger self's reaction to wine."

"I gave him a bloody excellent red, I did. And he spit it all over the french lace tablecloth. The good one!" Jenny moans, eyes darting across the clean linen in horrified remembrance. It must have been one hell of a spit take, judging by the amount of spots she stops on.

"He didn't!" Why, with all his superior Time Lord senses, he doesn't bother to smell something before throwing it down his gullet, I'll never understand.

"He did! I was ready to murder 'im!"

"And then the onions exploded! Ah, it was such an entertaining evening!" Strax chimes in.

And the good mood's back. Despite the turbulence, it's been freeing, this little episode. Just what I needed after getting spat into this universe and smothered and yelled at. I haul my over-stuffed self up and messily cut myself another piece for the road. Because, again, we're dealing with the Doctor, here. As much as he's trying to leave me alone, for what angle, god knows, but as much as he's trying, he pretty much took responsibility for this adventure as soon as he grabbed my hand and dragged me towards danger.

The door slams back open and he stomps back in the way he came out, head down, shoulders up, and expression sour. He's tried to button his jacket to cover his front, but it does little good. He hauls me up cake and all, despite vehement protest, conveniently covering his crotch in the process.

"I trust that between the three of you you can figure out why it might be a good idea that Devi and I aren't interrupted investigating? And before you say anything, a 'no' would be a very poor answer." Vastra's not cowed in the least by his temper, but she seems to see his logic.

"Devi, do you truly not want the Doctor to find you?" She stares at me, wedged between Twelve's arms; takes in my discomfort, the way he clutches me to his chest.

"Hell, no!" No way, no how, do I want bowtie-boy to find me. Especially with Twelve. The results would be catastrophic, to say the least.

"Fine then, we'll run interference. I daresay it will be good exercise after Jenny's deliciously rich spread." She sends a flirty smirk in the direction of the maid's tutting.

"Good. He's stuck in a barrel over at Greenland Dock. Or will be for the next thirty minutes." And with that, he trots me out.

"It was lovely to meet you all! Thanks for dinner!" I wave my fork at them as I'm carted through the door and into the night.

The last thing I hear is Jenny's, "Meet us? What did she mean?"

We travel in silence, which progressively gets more and more awkward as the usually social butterfly silently carts me around and I nibble on my cake. After a few blocks, I take a page out of the Doctor's book of avoidance and decide to act like our awkward rug-moment never happened. It's too important to forget, but for now, I just need to not think.

"So, do they actually manage to find you?" I ask with as much cheer as I can muster. Pedestrians discreetly and not-so-discreetly stare at our spectacle as we pass and he liberally doles out dark glares.

"No." So he's sent the competition for adventure and my attention on a goose chase. Why am I not surprised?

"Are you really stuck in a barrel?" I watch for the barely-there hesitation.

"No." That one was a lie.

"You totally are! So, how'd you get stuck?"

"No, I didn't! I told you I didn't." He shoots me a glower and I take a bite of cake in response, making sure to get a few crumbs on his jacket.

"Fine. Fine. Can you put me down now?" I squirm as he jostles us around a puddle and into a narrow alley.

"Well, you're impatient, aren't you?" The idiot hedges, but I'm having none of it.

"Down. Now!" I poke his shoulder with my fork. No reaction. I poke harder.

"Stop that! You can barely walk. You've stuffed yourself like a christmas turkey." True, but…

"And whose fault was that? I wasn't the one loading up my plate."

"And I wasn't the one eating it." Without me realizing it, he's managed to get us to the TARDIS. He backs us through the doors, dumps me on the jump seat and disappears. I stare lazily at the unfamiliar chrome and blue and books. He's right, I did stuff myself. I settle back into the leather, but notice the grease and dirt and the raggedy edges of my clothes. I haven't changed since my ill-fated landing in the desert. Well, when in Rome…I groan as I rock to a stand. A little table has conveniently appeared next to the chair and I plop my plate onto it. Patting the railing gratefully, I waddle down the stairs.

He's tucking his shirt into new trousers when I find him in his bedroom. It's different than before. Darker, colder. The desk is still chaotic, but in an organized way and the wall behind it is bare. The wardrobe's filled from one end to the other with dark suit jackets and crip white shirts.

"Do I die?" A deep, dark part of me tumbles the question out. But what can I think with all of the little signs I've been seeing? He just snorts and turns his attention to picking out a jacket.

"Do you know there's a galaxy out there that's set to collide with another? Happens all the time, in the grand scheme of things, but this one, it's spectacular in that all those rocks and planets _dance_. They brush past each other, time and again, coming closer and closer until finally, they're an inseparable swirl of gas and light."

"That's beautiful." And evasive.

"No, it's sad." He finally makes a decision and pulls a coat from the wardrobe with a flourish. It's the red velvet one, shuffled to the side and pushed back till it had almost been swamped by navy. "But then, the Milky Way has always been prone to doing things unusually."

"Wait, _this_ galaxy? With which one?" I'm lured into the room. Stopping just short of the bed, I study him as he shrugs the top half of his Twelve uniform on.

"Andromeda. We can go watch it if you want to." He rounds on me. Unlike Eleven, he doesn't try to hide the fact that he's beyond pleased to see me standing next to his bed. He crosses his arms with a winning smile. There's something knowing in the steely blue sweeping me up and down, the ring finger gently tapping to make the band on it sparkle, that makes my stomach plummet. Abort! Abort! Abort! I retreat to the safety of the doorway.

"You're taking me back to America, remember? You promised."

"Ah. Yes." Skepticism must be wafting off me in waves, because he hurries to assure me in that insincere way of his, "Straight to UNIT."

"Straight to UNIT. But before that," I wave a battered sleeve at him, "I need to clean up."

"Do you?" He just changed his entire outfit because of a little stain and he can't process the actual holes in my shirt?! Geez.

"Doctor…" I stick a finger through my collar and shove it in his direction. I just get a blank look. Given his preference for holey sweaters, I probably should have used a different tactic. "Just show me where the wardrobe room is. And a shower…" a finger immediately points to a door in the corner, "that's _not_ yours."

The finger drops in a huff, but he relents, "There's bound to be one in the wardrobe." And indeed there is. It's more of a locker room, but the hot water's glorious and the towels are fluffy. I hesitate over the mint soap as the Doctor hovers in the doorway.

"Out." The territorial hiss has him backing away, muttering something about fixing some buttons on the console, before making himself scarce. I carefully peel my clothes off and fold them onto a bench. Leaning down, slowly because of my full belly, I sniff them deeply. Unsurprisingly, they're a little ripe, but it doesn't stop me from savoring the faint smell of home still lingering on the fabric. Mixed in, almost drowning the memories out, is the engine grease and dust of the time ship and a little furniture polish from Paternoster Row. Soon, there won't be anything left to hang on to. Panicked, I find a fluffy robe and pull it on, then stick my head into the corridor.

"Doctor!" I shout. I have no doubt the TARDIS will alert him to my call. In under twenty seconds, he's there, eyebrows furrowed in worry. I hold my precious pile of memories out to him, pleading silently for this man to help me. "Is there anywhere I can put these?"

"Yes, of course." He doesn't ogle, he doesn't get smug, he just reaches into his jacket and pulls out a little blob of metal on a chain before looping it gently over my head. "That's the key to a hermetically sealed storage cupboard on deck three. It's slightly psychic, so just think about your clothes and it'll point you to them." He carefully takes the bundle of clothing, but pauses on the way out. "That's the only key and I'll lock the door behind me."

Why does he have to go and do things like this? It just reminds me that the fan's-best-friend that I so desperately wish for is in there somewhere. I shower numbly, resigning myself to the mint smell as I wash away the last bit of home from my skin, then hunt down the most jeopardy-resistant clothing I can. Sturdy boots, thick pants and layered sweaters, topped with a rugged bomber jacket. It's definitely not fashionable, but makes me feel like I have a little bit of armor between me and the world, which is infinitely better. Clutching my key for dear life, I decide to brave the console room.

However, before I can make it there, a door in one of the corridors opens as I pass. It's the medical bay. Equipment lines the room and a few tables sit against a wall to my right. In the back, locked onto a sturdy pedestal, sits a glass cylinder with a little pink dot floating in it. It's the least clinical looking thing here, I note as I go over to investigate. A warm feeling washes over me the closer I get, like the best hug in the world or the comfiest blanket. It's curious and familiar and enthralling.

Someone's been taking care of it manually, despite the TARDIS' cleaning protocols, if the spritz bottle and cloth I spy sitting off to the side are any indicator. Interestingly, a tag is attached to the bottom in Gallifreyan. Beautiful gold lines shoot through the tank, weaving themselves into a grid-like arrangement that thrums in some peculiar pattern. This close, I can make out a black dot in the pink. I stretch my hand towards it…

"It's a psychic shrimp. Got it on Saturnyne." His eyes are locked on the half inch of air between my fingertip and the glass. He glides into the room, focus never wavering. Clearly, he has issues with sharing his shrimp in a tube. "It's very rare. And very, very precious. One of the best aids to healing in the universe. It's said it can even mend broken hearts." Oh. No wonder he's nervous. This little thing, such a big deal? But…

"So that's why I'm getting the warm fuzzies." His hands pause in the gentle separation of my finger and the glass.

"What?" He whispers.

"It feels like…happiness. And love. All kind of rolled into one." He suddenly pales, looks queasy. "Doctor, are you alright?"

"Never better." A smile snaps into place and he drags me from the room. "But why are we standing around here discussing a shrimp when we could be finding a dragon?"

I'm nearly hobbling by the time we get to the console room. Oh, why did I eat so much? I collapse into the seat with a groan, lazily tracking him with just my eyes as he paces around, poking buttons and flipping switches. "I think I'm going to need a minute." Ow. My tummy. "Better make that an hour." He pauses and then actually stops when he realizes the implications.

"I told you you stuffed yourself!" Yeah, yeah. Gloss over the fact that it's partly your fault.

"Can't you just move us closer? Oh, wait, your driving." This sets him to clucking angrily,

"It's not my driving that's the problem. I don't just plop the TARDIS in the middle of a situation!"

"HADS. Oh, wait, your idiocy." I roll my eyes at him _very_ pointedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"Hail. Rani. _South Pole_." When the eyebrows start lowering, I know I've got him. "Be a dear and leave me alone while I take a nap, will you?" I relax into the chair as he storms off.

"You and your stupid human metabolism, your stupid, backwards little caveman instincts, that's what's the problem!" Bounces out from the hall as he disappears. Oh, but that roast was good! Minutes later, I'm nudged from my dozing by a hand holding a little white pill.

"What's this?" I eye it skeptically as he dumps it into my palm.

"The answer to your problem." _My_ problem? Oh, no. I'm quite happy to stay draped in this chair. It's awfully comfy for being so modern-looking. "It'll speed your up metabolism, just for an instant, so that you can work through all that food. Safe, efficient, and will only take a minute. And then _dragon_!"

I look at the pill the degree-in-cheesemaking doctor says will work. Do it for America, Devi. For the hope of a peaceful, Doctor-free life. I gulp it down. Almost instantly, I drowsily collapse into his waiting arms.

"That'll be the digestion kicking in. It'll be over soon." And it is. He helps me sit up. My body feels weird. Like it's balanced between just-stuck-a-finger-in-a-socket and strangely copacetic. My mouth tastes like parsley.

"Oh, I'm never doing that again. Who the heck would even use something like that?" I wobble to my feet.

"Humans." Ah, his favorite species to insult. "It becomes a fad around the fortieth century. Just like sleeping, they try their best to economize time and maximize productivity. Always in a hurry to get nothing done and everything missed. Now come on!" He takes my hands and backs us towards adventure, eyeing my increasingly stable steps with satisfaction.

"Can't you just take me to New York? We're already in the TARDIS. And we're already breaking Laws of Time liberally, here. What's one more?" It's a plea I know will fall on deaf ears. And sure enough,

"But, Devi, a dragon! In _Victorian London_! The odds alone are frighteningly exciting." So we're not counting the giant lizard in the Thames, then? Before I can comment, he's gone into the night, hell bent on galloping headfirst into danger and dragging me along for the ride.

I grudgingly follow, determination growing with every violently efficient stride to tear into whatever villainous plot lay before me in the bowels of Victorian London and kick some ass. After all, the sooner I'm free of this crazy man, the sooner I can finally have some peace.

I hope.

 **Probably should have mentioned this before, but I'm trying to stick to around every other week for my updates. If I get a new chapter done beforehand, then I'll put it out sooner. After all, as a reader, I hate to wait, so why should I make all of you? But yeah, hang in there. The dragon adventure is next and then Eleven will be back. Whoo, is he angry.**

 **Which reminds me, I'm working on a painting of one of Eleven's rather impressive non-BBC approved looks. I put a thumbnail up as my temporary profile picture and a larger, finished version will be posted soon to the new Tumblr account I got. It's mainly an outlet for me to post any random thoughts, character artwork or updates on chapter completion for this fic and uses a similar pen name as on this site, writerwandrian. But, seriously, if you're feeling motivated, check it out. I like to kid myself into believing that I'm hilariously funny and I talk a lot about Doctor Who, which given that you're reading this fic, should entertain you quite a bit once I get some content up.**

 **Anywho, thanks so, so much to my reviewers for your comments and encouragement! It really helps affirm that I'm heading this story in the right direction. And all you favoriters and followers - I see you out there. Your investment in my story is totally awesome! Keep reading, my lovely readers, keep interacting, the attention keeps me and this story going!**

 **-Ria**


	5. Beggar's Carnival 1

"That's a particularly advanced biometric scanner. Fifty-first century with, is that dampers? Very clever tech." The Doctor's focus is on a gaudy crystal ball that people are touching to gain tickets to the warehouse we're standing opposite of. Unsuspecting humans purposely being attracted in droves and an alien gizmo scanning them for someone or, worse, _something_. Well, this is a classic disaster scenario.

"Can you tell what it's scanning for this far…?" I trail off when I notice I'm talking to empty air. He's halfway across the road already, making a beeline for the shiny thingy that will definitely catalog him as alien. Does this idiot's arrogance know no bounds? He swivels when he notices I'm not trailing behind him like a good companion and 'come hithers' me in that covertly obvious way of his. I'm not going to walk into that trap willingly. I head away from him, around the building to where I'm sure there has to be a side door.

"Wrong way. Very, very not right." Ah, there he is, hurriedly scuffling up behind me. "So, just turn around…yes, like that. Exactly. You've got it." His tone does nothing to stop my rising eyebrow, my huffy step into his space that has him eyeing me warily but not stepping back.

"And willingly walk into getting myself locked up or shot at? No, thank you." I ignore the stubborn set to his jaw and twirl back around. "Now, there has to be another way into this thing."

"There's _always_ another way in. But it's usually boring." Yet, he slips his hand in mine and gently takes the lead. Flicking out his sonic, he scans the area and then promptly tugs us to a rusted door. He grumbles at the stubborn lock, at least before it explodes in his face with a dramatic little pop.

"Door: one, Doctor: zero," I snicker at the slightly singed eyebrows. He grumps off into the dark building, forsaking my hand. But my eye catches on his shoulder. There's a spark smoldering in the velvet. "Wait." Of course, he ignores me. "Hold on!" I hiss, and tug him to a stop. Ugh, he's probably going to read into this, but I carefully reach up. My fingers practically sink into the velvet as I pluck it out. God damn, his coat's cuddly. And isn't that hilarious, this gruff curmudgeon with a luxuriously fuzzy item of clothing?

"Are you done fondling my jacket?" I was right. He's giving me another one of those looks. Like he doesn't want me to stop _fondling,_ as he so tellingly put it.

"There was a spark—"

"Which you conveniently petted out." Don't sock him, Devi. Not in the middle of possible danger. It's not good for your chances of survival.

"If this happens again, which it might, in these next few hours, given your danger magnetism, I'm going to let you catch fire." I can practically hear his smirk as he follows my indignant stomps towards danger.

"No you won't."

"Shut up."

"Because you really liked the collar of that long purple-y one I wore. And that was just corduroy." For the love of god, I'm going to kill him! I'm going to—

I crash to the floor, the Doctor catching me with only inches to spare. The lighting's poor, but not horrible, once my eyes adjust, and I can see a tiny shape huddled in my path. It's a girl, very young, by the looks of it. She's dirty and shivering and curled in on herself. He hefts me up and back firmly into his chest, but I push him away.

"God, are you alright?" She lifts her head and I'm stunned with a kaleidoscope of color. Even the Doctor takes a sharp breath at eyes that shimmer from purple to green like a gem caught in the light. And yet, they're beset by shadows, an age and weight that shouldn't have to burden someone so young.

"Well, hello there. You're in the middle of the hallway, do you know?" Oh, he's as utterly enraged as I am that this child has known so much darkness. She looks around dazedly and then nods in the affirmative. "You must have a very important reason, then. Not many people would plop themselves down in the middle of a hallway. Where anyone might come along." She tenses at his probe. "But don't mind us. We're just passing through."

He starts to sidle away, reeling her in, but I'm having none of it. I grab his jacket, stick my hand down its pocket, and come up with a bag of cookies. Flopping to the brick, I tear into them and watch as she looks between my stuffed mouth, the bag, and his pocket in wonder.

"Are you part of the show?" Her voice is gorgeous. Fluty and lilting and soft, but sadly hesitant. "A new magician act?" At this, I totally shoot the idiot a toothy smile, which he parries with a defensive tug on his jacket.

"Yes. A new a—"

"Not really. We heard about the carnival and came to check it out." No way am I letting him get away with his usual tricks. Not with how broken this one looks. "Do you want one?" I proffer a nice big specimen with lots of chocolate chips. Like a wary cat, she observes it for a moment, the cookie I'm stuffing in my mouth, then carefully pulls it from my fingers. As she starts nibbling, I begin.

"My name's Devi. And that's the Doctor. He's a magician, just not part of this show."

"I am not! Does anything about this," hands travel down his length with showman's flair, "say carney?"

"He's a magician," I say to his spluttering. I notice the cookie's almost gone and hand her another. "So, what's your name?"

"Tauna," is said with a little more confidence. I toss the Doctor a cookie to bring him in on the action.

"That's pretty. Your eyes are pretty awesome, too."

"Thank you. It's my Link." Well, that sounds important.

"Link?" The Doctor finally gives in and settles himself on the floor. "Link to what? Don't tell me you've gone and hooked yourself up to a computer. That never works out well."

The instant it's out of his mouth, we both know he's hit the proverbial landmine. Tauna starts sobbing like there's no tomorrow, her quiet gasps shaking her slight frame worryingly. And yet, through the tears, she keeps eating her cookie. Twelve and I lock gazes, irritation building between us at this sign that there's something horrifically wrong. Cause you don't just eat your cookie when you are that level of devastated. Following his cue, I push the bag in front of the kid.

"Look at you, all skin and bones. Can't have that, now can we?" She ignores him, but he nudges the cookies towards her. "All yours. Eat up." As a youngster, even I would find his idiotically heavy-handed wording slightly suspicious, but at his approval, the bag gets crushed to her chest with alarming ferocity. "Now, have you gone and hooked yourself up to a computer? Is that why yours eyes are so flashy? Because, really, if you have, forget what I said. You'll be fine."

"Really?" There's hope there, and the Doctor winces at it.

"Well, no. Maybe." She droops. "So, you really have, then?"

"My father. We ran. Tried to run. But without our dragons, he couldn't get us very far. They said he broke his contract." So the baddies press-ganged him into…something with a computer. I'm not sure I really want to know the details, but I'm certain I'm about to find out, going by the Doctor's eager expression.

"Now that doesn't sound very fair, does it? How about we go and take a look? I am a _Magician_ , after all. I do magic," he finally concedes out of necessity. He pulls a half a meter long baguette from his pocket and hands it over to a wide eyed Tauna. The tears are slowly drying and though the hope is too jaded to come back out, there's a bit of interest pushing the sorrow down.

"We've nearly doubled our profits in the last two days!" The exclamation echoes down the hall, followed by nearing footsteps. All of us freeze for a second, Tauna looking at us helplessly panicked, and then she scampers away. The Doctor immediately takes my hand and follows, stopping us out of sight around a corner. A man rushes past, red suit coat thrown on haphazardly, a sneer set into his makeup-caked face, but he halts at the calm assertion,

"It's not about the profits, Ringmaster, it's about making the people happy." An older man in a rather modest suit and bowler hat looks at him earnestly.

"But, Mr. Orange—"

"I'm sorry, I know we've disagreed for almost as long as you've been in our employ, but Orange's Mystical Carnival will never be rich. Not if I have anything to say about it. And I'm sure most of my staff will agree." _This_ is the biggest baddie? He looks more suited to being a museum docent. But then again, there's an edge of violence, unpredictability about him I can catch even hidden down another hallway.

"Of course they would. They're under contract. The pointless scrounging for food, the rags and scraps and hardships. I've had enough of watching you cripple these people and this show. I'm done."

"Your contract is unbreakable." I whip my eyes to the Doctor at the finality I hear. He just slips his hands around my waist, caging me, an apology in his eyes.

"You wouldn't dare. Not me. Not with all the things I've done for you." The Ringmaster determinedly strides away.

"Please be reasonable. You're one of the best ringmasters I've come across."

"You can find another one." The flash of a blaster being pulled out, the blinding light, it's over before I can even process the beginning. A light dusting of ash drifts down to the floor in silence.

"Your contract was unbreakable." The bastard sounds truly regretful as he stows his weapon, dejectedly walks off.

I just watched someone get murdered. It's something I can't ever un-see. Something that I'll probably see more of if I continue to travel with this man behind me who runs towards danger. Shame sets in as I realize that I just stood there. I stood there and he got killed and I let the murderer walk off. The reality of this television show is harsh, strikes me like a hot poker straight to the heart, and I sag. Twelve takes my weight, cradles me against his chest for a moment, then jerks me upright.

"We couldn't save him, Devi, not without getting ourselves hurt. But these people will be helped. That's what we do. We help." No, _he_ helps. An idiot, passing through. But me, plain old, stubborn, selfish me, no. Because my shame wasn't that I didn't do anything, but that I didn't want to. And because it scares me, that shame. Deep down, in a place that I didn't even know I had, it was caused by something that would tie me to this hero, make a hero out of me.

"I can't." His face freezes into the calm before the Oncoming Storm.

"What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can. In fact, you have. You've saved entire plan—"

"Don't you start. I'm going to UNIT when this is done. And I'm living a safe life away from you and _this_." I wave at the morbid little pile sitting on the brick. That dead expression I've only seen on Eleven drifts deftly over me.

"And then all those people you've saved, you know what happens. Or at least have an inkling in that tiny brain of yours." He swivels, and then a cheery tone beckons, despite his still-rigid posture, "Come on, _we've_ got a carnival to save. I think we'd better start with the father. They're probably keeping hi…" His hands are immediately on my horrified face, poking at the skin. "Oh, no. No, no. What've you got that expression on for? It's rubbish."

My fist comes up and connects with a satisfying smack into that chiseled cheek of his. To hell with survival, he just slapped me with the worst kind of timey-wimey blackmail. He reacts instantly. Eleven would've probably chattered it off and given me my space, but this one is more direct. My legs are kicked out from under me and I slam into his chest. He grunts but takes the impact, legs and arms locking against my instinctive bid for freedom and crushing my face against velvet. He calmly and gently rides out my efforts to get even a tiny distance to be able to glare at him.

"We're going with the hug policy, then?" I mumble out. "Hiding?"

"Yes, because you need to _listen_ , Devi. With your ears. Really, truly listen." Honesty. I hear _honesty_. The liar's being direct for once, and I realize that this is bad. No, this could be devastating. "Because _he's_ set on wooing you with little tricks and traps. Set on coaxing your head into the sand right next to his. But you're not here to be swept off your feet. You are here because of your causality."

"Yeah. Which you started. _You_ told me about traveling with you."

"What can I say, I'm an idiot. And _he_ was…rather desperate. An old fool in lo—"

"You let me walk! You said I could go!" I cut off his statement as I manage to gain enough leverage to get a peek. I see an apology in his eyes, and a wistful softening.

"It's nice to have hope. He would've found you eventually." He was trying to be kind. So, so cruelly kind. But then my stomach drops, because I realize _why._

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!' I frantically start punching his torso, trying to get free. It's like hitting a brick wall, would be an aptly overused idiom. But I manage to wrangle myself away. "I did this."

"Yes," he winces apologetically, "and no. But mostly yes. But mostly no."

Somehow, impossibly, frighteningly, I willingly start all this with Nine. But bowtie boy shows me it beforehand. "Ah, shit."

"That seems about right," he wheezes, resting a hand against the wall and gingerly pressing his side. "I think you bruised a rib. No, definitely. Fourth one down. Ow."

"You deserve it." And he does. Him and his timey-wimey bullshit.

"Ah, yes, I forgot how violent you are." Says the ironically Scottish idiot with such longing that I blanch.

" _Okay_." My nervousness gets struck with a beaming smile and a pathetic plea,

"I think you're going to have to help me. I'm a little more feeble this time around." The fool actually tries to drape an arm around my shoulders. Ha. Ha. Ha. I slam into the bruised rib with a vicious vengeance. At this point, if I survive this adventure, I survive. Causality be damned. The Doctor be damned.

"Physician, heal thyself." I spit this most beautiful of comebacks and watch as he straightens with a huff. "Cause you ain't getting no help from me, buster." I storm away, but stop at the sudden confession,

"We're so tangled up, you and I. Our timelines, they're just this fantastic knot. And I'm sorry Devi, because I never could bring myself to care."

"I should probably punch you again," I muse.

"Atta girl!" He cheers with a wink. "Though go for the other cheek. It'll make a set. Because I think I have a rib bruised on that side, too."

"You're impossible."

"And you hit astoundingly hard."

"I refuse to believe that I'm stuck with this," I flap at the mess of a Time Lord, goofily smiling through the pain, "tragedy. There has to be a way around it." But I think about River and her broken arm, Donna's turning left. But then, I've seen the tv show, and it turned out fine without me, so… "It would have to be before any of this happens. Nine! That's it! I just don't travel with him." The Doctor gives me the look like I've dribbled on myself.

"And how would you know to do that in the first place?" He gathers himself and starts tottering off. "You know what? Try it. That _would_ be the point for it. But until then, you've got to travel with me. Just go with it. Let things happen. Enjoy the ride. And when the time comes, by all means, break my hearts and live a boring life. _Now_ ," he mulishly grabs my hand and tries to cart me along, "let's go save this carnival."

"No." I see through his ploy. But the question remains, is there a loophole? And where? And how? Maybe a reset like the big friendly button? Or Back to the Future? "I want to hear you say it." Say it so I can hate you. Say it, say it, say it. Say it so that I can blame and distract. Because yet another perfect scenario has been slapped in my face. I _have_ to travel with this jeopardy-friendly crackpot. If it was just Eleven saying the things he did, I might've had a chance. But this is possibly universe-ripping in scale, partly because of my own actions. And I'm much too stupid to find the kind of loophole something like that has, especially with the consequences hanging over my head. However, this _is_ the Doctor we're talking about. I see him eye the exit, fold to familiar urges and instincts. But then he stills, and the hair-raising ugliness is back in a cheshire curl to the lip.

"But does it really need saying?"

"Yes," I push and the floodgates open and the deluge pounds down.

"You're not getting to America. You never will. Because there are things best not meddled with, Devi, roads that must never be taken or even pondered." He leans in and whispers the last terrible truth, "And because I just don't want you to."

We both know the ammo he just handed over. But there's an alarming combination of devil-may-care and smug knowing in his steely blue.

"I hate you."

"You'll find that there's a very thin line between hate and love." His eyes flick below mine and he starts leaning in like an asteroid caught fast in planetary gravity. And then my fist connects with the other cheek and he reels back.

" _Youch_!" Is groaned out as he flails for balance and sniffles a pathetically crumpled expression in my direction.

"Well, you said to make it a set!"

"But…ow!"

"Yeah, well, I hate you."

" _No, you don't_ ," is muttered from behind a hand. What did he just say? I level him with the full, fiery force of my homicidal irritation and he does a satisfyingly perfect deer-caught-in-headlights twitch. And then he bolts.

"Get back here!" My growl makes him go even faster. Shame my body seems to have been blessed with a new and impressively mighty resilience. At least for him. Because he's gonna die once I get my hands wrapped around that skinny neck of his!

"Ah, there's a thing. To do with the dragon. Gotta see the thing. Imperative." He grunts, putting a hand to his side whilst still managing to soldier on.

"What's imperative is for you to stop breathing!"

"Think about my respiratory bypass! It'd take you forever. Much too much effort. And you can't kill me off. You need me to save the carnival! To pilot the TARDIS!" I'm gonna get him. Him and his arrogance and his sticking me with this fate. As he skids around a corner, he loses just enough momentum to pounce. I smack into him hard, throwing him off balance. For a moment, we're airborne, and he twists us, shielding me snugly against his body. And then we're jolting against a thin wooden wall and through it. We hit the ground with a sickening thud, Twelve taking most of the impact with a whine for his ribs, and roll to a stop, him still hugging me.

I immediately disentangle myself and come face to face with threadbare clothes, widened eyes, and desperation. We've landed in what looks like the canteen and most of the staff is frozen in stunned silence at our spectacle. Whoops.

"Hello. We've come to help." He bounces up, taking the attention swimmingly, and then zeros in on a nearby bowl. "And is that potato soup? Looks a little watery. But still, can I have some?"

And he's off and running, no, sprinting towards distraction. Because I can see it hanging on him, weighing his shoulders down and making his movements a little more manic, frantic. Panic, I could understand, nervousness, fright, even, for our situation and oncoming clash. Because there will be, as soon as this is over. But an overwhelming misery and shame and _anger_ that sits like a stone on his back? It's another piece to the mystery of my disappearance that makes me even more sure that I have to, no, _need_ to find an eject button. And fast.

But as I watch him desperately flee, I'm starting to maybe, kind of, possibly…believe I won't be able to.

 **You know, I had a plan. A really nice plan. Because I want to get back to Eleven and his flopping and distractions and neediness. He's so fun to write, dang it! But then then Twelve just** ** _had_** **to toss the proverbial match on the proverbial petrol. Ah, well. This adventure needs to play itself out and things need to happen between Devi and Twelve before that.**

 **I've started putting up a song list on my tumblr, writerwandrian (dot tumblr dot com). I haven't really gotten half the stuff I want posted yet, especially the more modern songs, but what's already there gives a good hint at where the story is going for each Doctor with Devi. For example, Hunter Hayes' Young Blood is in Eleven's queue. Youtube it, people. It's…hot. Maybe it gives** ** _too_** **much away, like Devi's song, Land of Opportunity, but, eh, if you're motivated enough to go and listen, you've earned it.**

 **Thanks to all my readers and reviews and followers and favoriters. It's very encouraging to know that people are liking the direction I'm going with Devi's stubbornness. There were a few questions brought up last chapter, and I'll state for the record that I try my best to answer any and all questions put to me about the story. So if you have 'em, go ahead and hit me with 'em.**

 **-Ria**

 **Falling Right Side-Up: Oh, I love it when reviews get critical, because they really make me refocus on the** ** _whys_** **and** ** _hows_** **of what I write! I wrote the beginning assuming that Devi's seen the show back home and, just like any other fan, has already answered the question of 'to travel or not to travel with the doctor?' based on her conclusions. She's also familiar with the scenario of fan-landing-in-whoniverse. It just so happens that in the reality she's been plopped into he's a bit worse than in the show. And she certainly recognizes the appeal of traveling with him, and has a few 'what if?' wavers, but at least right now, miss stubborn-ass is more focused on wishing he was more detached like in the show since that would make it easier to go about her business. Which is far away from him. And exactly** ** _who_** **said she falls in love with him? I'd take everything my Doctor says with a grain of salt since, rule number one:** ** _the Doctor lies_** **. And Devi doesn't do the traditional fan-plot of jumping around his timeline. She's completely normal in that respect, probably much to the Doctor's delight, and lives her days linearly. Well, as much as you can when you travel in a time machine. That certainly makes it complicated about getting to Nine, doesn't it? Thanks for your reviews and your awesome questions and comments!**

 **rodney-mckays: Wish I could say I'm sorry, but in reality, I'm much too pleased to be. To have a reader react to your work like that is like the bestest thing ever for an author. So, thanks, dear. You made my day ;)**


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